Catalyst (Book 1): Downward Cycle

by JK Franks

  He wasn’t learning anything helpful here. Scott began to think. He had no idea how long the power or Internet would be working, but he had to assume it might fail again soon. He already knew the basics of what had happened. What he didn’t know was how severe the problem was. While he knew it had been deadly to some, was it just an inconvenience to most, or would there be more long-lasting or far ranging effects? A single solar flare would not normally hit all of the Earth equally; some of the planet would be faced away from the sun. While the magnetosphere would dissipate energy around the globe, he didn’t think it would do so evenly… some areas would likely be much harder hit than others.

  He triggered a background program to begin randomly pinging and plotting active servers worldwide. When complete, this would give him a good idea of who still had electricity.

  He glanced over at the notebook he had been keeping his supply inventory and wish lists in. “What the hell,” he said aloud. “I wasn’t very well prepared for today, and it may already be too late, but I’ve got nothing to lose.” Scott still did not expect he would need any of the things on that list even if he could find any to buy. No harm in trying, though, and he was one of the few who would have access. He typed in the IP Address for Amazon, and the familiar megastore window popped up nearly immediately. He knew Amazon had some of the best technology in the world and servers and warehouses in nearly every corner of the country. Would they still be taking online orders? he wondered, Let’s find out.

  He logged into his personal account and began sourcing the items on his list, quickly adding them to his shopping cart. As always, he was trying to select the best quality as well as the best value. From his work with DHS, he had access to the kits and supply listing they supplied to field units who worked for them. Scott also had a list of preferred items his brother, Bobby, had recommended. First, a larger backpack to go with his EDC bag. Then, a multitool, a sleeping mat, glow sticks, an Evermatch, a larger first aid kit, more water purification tablets, cooking gel, a hand crank radio, a pack stove, a Chinese-made portable two-way radio and considerably more.

  What he had so far was a good start, but it was by no means all he might need. Now that he had committed to this path, he felt he should go all in. In the grocery section, he placed orders for all the foodstuffs he had listed earlier. These items that could also be good to trade if needed.

  When Scott went to view the cart, he had selected almost $6,000 worth of materials. He decided to put it on his American Express, thinking selfishly to himself, If I need all this stuff, then I likely won’t be paying the bill. Scott made sure he’d selected only items available for immediate shipment and placed the order. He was amazed that the “Order Placed, Thank You” screen appeared. He knew they had a warehouse about 150 miles from Harris Springs. Even so, he’d be shocked if he ever actually received any of this stuff.

  He logged back into his store account and found he now had an “Order in Process” status beside the new order number. “I guess we will see,” he thought aloud. Who in the world would have gone into work to pull orders on a day like this? he wondered. Looking at the corner of the screen, he saw that the time was 5:38 a.m., and he knew he was up for the day.

  Chapter Nine

  The power blinked a few times but stayed on, and Scott spent several hours reviewing what additional information he could find. A few TV channels were coming back on now, but nothing informative, just a logo or ticker stating broadcasting would resume later. Before logging off from his worksite, he did review the server map and also ran a diagnostic scan designed by the US government to show a global map with all potentially malicious Internet activity worldwide, such as ongoing cyber-attacks. Both maps were nearly empty, but he could also change the settings to show all Internet activity. What normally would have been an indistinguishable web of traffic now showed great empty holes over much of the map. The Southern US was active, but far below normal. The Northeast US from Virginia to Boston showed no activity other than a few hotspots around DC. Europe was mostly dark except for Germany, the Netherlands, Spain and Italy, which seemed about normal. Korea, China and Japan showed no web activity at all. From what he was seeing, it appeared that over ninety-five percent of the world’s web traffic had vanished in the last twenty-four hours. Sighing, Scott realized that his having power was an anomaly. It was going to be a new day—a dark day—for most of the planet.

  Once again, he tried and failed to reach Bobby on Skype. Finally giving up, he shut down the laptop and decided to have an overdue hot shower.

  Feeling refreshed, he considered what to do next. He felt like doing what he normally did, so he pulled on some shorts, sneakers and a faded T-shirt and grabbed his slightly grubby Cervelo bike off the wall rack. Locking the house, he easily pedaled the seven miles into the quiet beachside town of Harris Springs. As he crossed the bridge spanning the deep intercoastal waterway before the main street, Scott thought the town looked normal—not like anything earth shattering had happened yesterday. He pulled the bike up to the empty rack in front of the coffee shop just like he did several times a week. Scott loved a good cup of coffee and purposefully avoided making it at home because he knew he would drink too much, and, like stress, too much caffeine was not good. He justified that if he put in the exercise to ride the fourteen-mile round trip for a large coffee (and maybe an occasional muffin), his body was still getting a good deal.

  The coffee smelled wonderful, and the familiar woman behind the bar had it ready by the time he got to the counter. He smiled. “Thanks, Shirley. So glad to see you open. How are things going?”

  She smiled and shrugged. He remembered that she was not much for conversation even on the best of days. He added a chocolate croissant, paid cash and sat down at a table near the windows. Taking a tentative sip of the hot, delicious brew, he looked out over the ocean to where the sun was just beginning to kiss the tops of the waves. Other early risers were already out jogging or strolling along the beach for shells, and just behind them a seagull occasionally split from the flock and darted down to snag some small morsel from the surf.

  As he sat there enjoying his breakfast and the scenery, he began to feel foolish. His prepping, planning and stress last night had been ridiculous. Everything seemed to be normal. He did have a tendency to overreact at times, but the apocalypse would be a quick blow, not a lingering event… right? He got a refill on his coffee and returned to his table. Someone had found an actual news broadcast and was turning up the volume on the flat screen TV on the opposite wall. The camera shot of the news studio was replaced by a reporter standing in front of an airport. It looked like Hartsfield-Jackson in Atlanta, which Scott had been through countless times. A crash site lay behind the reporter, and fire trucks surrounded the smoldering ruin of a tail section and other wreckage that was barely recognizable as the fuselage of a passenger jet. As the camera pulled back and panned to the side, more of the surrounding area could be seen. There was another smoking crash site, and then another, each belching dark smoke into the sky. As the camera view pulled back even more, the full scene revealed itself: twenty, thirty, maybe even more planes lay on the tarmac in heaps. The pastry fell from Scott’s hand as he stared in horror at the screen. The new ticker crawling at the bottom of the screen declared that at least 1,850 flights had been lost yesterday as planes fell from the sky, their electronics having failed. Tens of thousands of passengers were presumed dead. All remaining doubts faded from Scott. This was not the end, that was yesterday. Today …today is the in between.

  Chapter Ten

  The sounds in the little shop came to an abrupt silence. Simultaneously, the light and picture faded from the TV as the power went off again. Shirley, the shop owner, leaned on the counter looking out in frustration. Sighing in frustration, she announced she was closing up since she wasn’t able to ring anything else up on the cash register or brew more coffee. She invited everyone to come up for free refills until it was gone. Scott was the last to leave, and as he got the fin
al refill from Shirley, “This is getting to be a pain isn’t it? Are you going to be ok?” “Huh…oh yes,” She answered. “I’ll be fine, just can’t make any money with the power off. I hope they get it fixed by lunch. Otherwise, my whole day is ruined.” He started to offer his opinion on that, then thought better of it. Why frighten anyone else with my opinions?

  Since he was unable to take his now full cup of coffee on the bike, Scott walked out and sat on the raised sidewalk overlooking the bike stand. Sipping the coffee, he saw a man he vaguely recognized coming in his direction. The man gave a low wave, and Scott nodded in the local custom. The man was probably is in his early thirties and wore jeans and a garishly loud tropical print shirt. He had a big, childlike grin as he crossed the empty street and said, “Hi – I’m Jack.”

  Scott shook his hand and said his name in return.

  “Nice day for a ride,” looking over at the little Italian racing bike.

  Nodding, Scott said, “That it was, until all the shit hit the fan.”

  Laughing, Jack said, “Amen to that, brother,” and Scott remembered where he had seen the guy—he was a preacher at the local Pentecostal Church.

  “Oh, sorry, Preacher.”

  Still laughing, Preacher Jack said, “Fear not, my brother, as the shit indeed, may have certainly hit the fan.”

  Looking up at the coffee shop with the closed sign on the door, the preacher’s smile vanished. “Just my luck, they ran out of coffee giving it to heathens like you,” he said looking down in fake judgment at Scott and his nearly full third cup of coffee. Jack's smile beamed large once more.

  “Sorry,” Scott said with a chuckle, “But yeah, she closed up when the power went back off. Here, have this one if you’re okay with black with a tiny bit of sugar.”

  “No, very kind, but no.”

  “Seriously, I’ve had all I can handle. My bladder will thank you.”

  Preacher Jack thought better of his refusal and accepted the cup of coffee from the outstretched arm. He lifted it to his lips, and Scott could tell he was savoring the smell of it. He also noticed what appeared to be the bottom of a crudely inked tattoo on one bicep, peeking out from under his shirt sleeve. Preacher Jack and Scott chatted for a few minutes, and Scott gave him what information he had. The preacher knew very little about yesterday's events. Scott thought of mentioning the plane crashes but decided against it. The man seemed to have a perpetually cheerful attitude. Why ruin it?

  Jack made the obligatory invitation to come to his church and then winked, “Had to y’know, it’s in the rulebook.” He thanked Scott profusely for the coffee and watched as he remounted the old bike and rode on through the town, scanning to see if anything else was open.

  As he rode, Scott continued to process what he knew. The power grid was out or on its last leg. Tens of thousands, likely many more, had died. Phones didn’t work. The Internet was down. But life still went on. At least here in Harris Springs, it seemed to be stubbornly refusing to accept anything had changed. Shrimp boats were heading out as normal. People were hauling chairs and umbrellas out to the beach. Scott stopped the bike near the beach boardwalk and tried to get his head around it. Was yesterday the collapse of society as he knew it or just another bump in the road? Was it just the next 9/11 or Katrina or Pearl Harbor...something to be remembered somberly at dinner tables for years to come, or the first day of the post-apocalyptic world? In the end, what made the most sense to Scott was something his dad had often told the boys growing up: Hope for the best, but plan for the worst.

  Scott pedaled around the small town taking note of the businesses that seemed to be trying to open. Many were putting “Cash Only” signs in windows. That reminded him—he should probably consolidate as much cash as he could. He had adequate savings, as well as a few healthy checking, retirement and investment accounts. He thought he could probably liquidate about half of that into a single account within the day if the power stayed on and the Internet remained useable. The remainder would take longer; especially if the stock market crashed or there was a run on the banks. He was pretty sure Wall Street and other trading centers would not have power to even open, much less crash, for several days. Chances were, the president would put a freeze on banks, limiting transactions as soon as communication networks were back up.

  Due to his varied career working for major banks, investment houses and various government agencies, Scott knew how vulnerable the US financial system actually was. The housing bubble and the collapse of 2008 had been predicated on the reckless actions of just one small segment of the lending industry. Their short-sighted greed came very close—much closer than most people realized—to collapsing the US economy entirely. Scott had moved most of his banking from a large Chicago bank to a local credit union soon after he moved to the area. Recently, he had even consolidated his small inheritance from his parents’ estate to a money market account at the same place. He began to wonder how much he could withdraw at one time and what everyone would do if the banks were ordered to close.

  Thinking longer term, getting his money out of the bank in cash was fine for now, but if the market crashed or financial systems didn’t come back soon, the dollar itself would quickly be worthless. What would be valuable then? Most likely a barter economy would pop up pretty quickly. Gold, silver, fuel, food, guns, ammo, running vehicles… maybe even water could be the currency then. Scott knew he had limited options to convert his cash to anything like that, but he did notice a pawn shop that was open and a jewelry store owner unlocking the doors for business. It also reminded him of some gold and silver exchanges on-line that might still be accepting orders—assuming he could get the net back up again. Then he could use his less liquid assets for them or even max out his credit cards to make up for whatever liquid assets he had to forfeit. He began making plans for the day as he finished his circuit of the town. He turned the bike westward and pedaled over the Intercoastal bridge back toward home.

  Chapter Eleven

  Scott Montgomery was not someone to whom most people would give a second thought. He appeared average in nearly every way. Despite that, he had a slightly above average IQ and the helpful ability to focus in on problems and become deeply attuned to probable solutions. Unlike many people he knew, he was intent to never be a victim; Scott had always faced life head-on. He had overcome odds often in his life just like most hard-working people. His failed marriage was his one true regret—not the fact that it had failed—in hindsight that was a relief, but that it had occurred. Despite feeling basically average, at heart he was a competitor. Scott didn’t like to fail at anything. The fact that he never seemed to live up to his dad’s expectations, or his brother’s, or especially his ex-wife’s, had done little for his confidence. Hiding out here, living his life of quiet existence had seemed like enough, but he knew it was not who he was.

  Deep down he knew something had fundamentally changed with the solar blast yesterday, and that the world would never be the same. While such thinking may be premature, he argued to himself, he was quickly becoming committed: he would be responsible for his own survival.

  He also knew the clock was ticking if he was to accomplish what he needed to. He needed the power and Internet back on, at least for a short while. He also needed the banks to open and operate as normal. Obviously, he needed a shitload of luck. Martial law could be instituted at any moment, including travel restrictions. Fuel sales could also be limited, and resupplies may not be coming—the whole world had been affected, after all. Food shortages would also be likely. He knew that most stores only kept a very limited supply of food. He already knew that a ground stop was in effect, there would be no flights until all systems were inspected and okayed. And then, who knew about the economy?

  Scott felt he had been unforgivably lax before the flare in making any real plan for survival; he was now at a disadvantage. The true preppers and survivalists were probably already hunkered down with their MREs with AK-47s in hand waiting for the zombie plague. Even now, th
ough, Scott preferred to take steps that could be undone if all of this blew over in a few days. Items he didn’t need he could return. Gold could be sold and cash put back into investment accounts. Food could be eaten, at least in time. He hoped that would be what happened. If so, it would be an inconvenience to return everything, redo his finances and possibly eat rice and dried beans for the next five years, but if this was as bad as he feared and everything was about to go sideways… he had to start making smart choices and think strategically.

  The power was still out at home, so he filled up the sink, tub and lots of containers with fresh water. He also loaded up the Jeep with every spare fuel container he had in the cottage, then went down to the boathouse and took the two large twenty-gallon fuel tanks off the old flat bottom boat that Bobby kept inside. He looked at the old pump-house and again thought about getting a generator or some solar panels to power it. Scott was beginning to make a list of longer-term items he may need to acquire in case this became a more permanent situation.

  Realistically, he wondered how far out he could prepare. All the fuel, batteries, and emergency food he could acquire would only last, how long? Six months, a year, maybe two? He knew that the best resource he had was his intelligence. Information to survive without power had been around for generations. Electricity was a relatively new addition to the human race, which had managed up to that point pretty well without it. Not having power did not have to mean life or death. It just meant inconvenience. Jungle tribes didn’t need it, crews on sailing ships had managed without it… he just needed to acquire more data to help him learn those life skills that modern living had archived to a dusty closet. He had grown up on a farm; he knew how to hunt and to fish, although, unlike his brother, he was not overly enthusiastic about either. If it came to survival, though, he would do what was needed as long as it didn’t harm others. He began to wonder how many others would say the same.